Today on Midwest Weird: “In-Home Party” by Erin Johnston.
Erin Johnston is the co-creator and editor of Midwest Weird. And with Heath Smith and Amy Lee Lillard, she hosts the 80s and 90s pop culture podcast Fuzzy Memories.
Midwest Weird is an audio literary magazine from Broads and Books Productions. We’re the home of weird fiction and nonfiction by Midwestern writers.
Episode Transcript:
This is Midwest Weird, an audio literary magazine from Broads and Books Productions.
We’re the home of weird fiction and nonfiction by Midwestern writers.
Today’s episode: A nonfiction piece by Erin Johnston, titled “In-Home Party." Read by the author.
The In-Home Party
Author’s Note: I changed the name of the product sold at this party for my own protection. Honestly, their cult-like following leads me to believe they would come after a disloyal like myself with the full force of the law, the almighty pyramid scheme council, and a radicalized, well-manicured, group of women.
6:00 PM
I climbed out of the car in front of a well-manicured lawn. I glanced to my left and right and noticed all the light posts were decorated in the same fall leaf garland.
“Huh,” I volunteered, undecided on whether the neighborhood matching fall décor was quaint, or creepy. I realized belatedly that I was standing still in the middle of the driveway, as a very pregnant woman pushed past me with a child in tow.
“We are going to the party!” He said. I nodded, and smiled at his mother, “Hi, I’m…” I trailed off as the mother brushed past.
I rushed up the driveway while trying to remember what the product actually was. The Hostess was the wife of a client. Our family business worked with them frequently. She invited me in person and the shock left me without a quick exit, and I said yes before I could come up with a sensible excuse. I had been dreading the party since the invite, and I didn’t do any research about the product as she had suggested at the time.
In-home parties are an enshrined Midwest tradition to force people to buy shit they don’t need, and eat party snacks they don’t want, and in the greatest insult, put them on a recurring invite list so they can never fully escape. They are a unique form of torture women convinced other women to attend in the pretense of friendship. I knew all of this. I knew it when I went to a leggings party, a cleaning product party, and the embroidered bag party, and yet, I cannot get out of my own way. So, I knocked on the door.
No one answered. The mother jetted so quickly up the driveway; the door was closed. I knocked again. Loud laughter filtered out through the window, mixed with a slight undertone of pumpkin spice.
I turned the doorknob and walked into an empty foyer. The trail of laughter led me around the corner and to the living room where a large group of women were gathered around a small, square size folding table, covered in a gold sequin tablecloth and littered with assorted colors of distinct size tubes.
“Hello!” I offered to the group, while I scanned for the hostess. No one acknowledged my hello, so I set my purse down by a few others and ventured closer to the table.
“I have been a LipWow consultant for a few years now. I tell people all the time that their life is about to change with one quick gloss!”
“Erin!” the hostess came to my side, straight from the kitchen. I turned my attention to her, and offered the bottle of wine I brought because I might not be an in-home party fanatic, but I am still passive-aggressively Midwest nice
“Thank you for having me,” As I turned to face the hostess directly, I noticed a weird color shellacked to her lips by what appeared to be a heavy layer of grease. I willed my face to look normal and smiled.
“How is Smike? How are the foys?”
“What?”
“How is your shmamily?”
“Um,” I stalled for time and returned a smile.
When she tried the gesture, I realized that her top lip was sticking to her two front teeth every time she tried to move her mouth. A very faint alarm bell sounded, what was this stuff?
“Did you shwash your hands?”
“Since I’ve been here?”
“Shmes”
“No.” I wanted to inquire further, but out of the corner of my eye I spied The Consultant headed in our direction. She wore cutoff jean shorts, silver glitter flats, a tank top with some wording I couldn’t read, and an army jacket cut-off vest. Her earrings appeared to be two large swatches of glitter fabric delicately hung from an earring hook. But it was the bangles that drew my attention immediately. There was a plastic bangle in every shade of sparkle, lined up and down both arms, clapping together in an off-beat rhythm to announce her arrival.
“Hi, I am Erin,” I offered.
“Did you wash your hands?” She inquired.
She didn’t introduce herself before walking towards the half bath off the side of the living room where the table was set up.
“Right in here – it is a three-step process. Exfoliate, cleanse, rejuvenate with moisturizer.” She clicked off the steps on three fingers. I nodded and followed her to the bathroom. Slightly louder alarm bell: obsessed with hands and everyone is protecting their identity.
6:08 PM
“I washed them!” I jokingly announced as I left the bathroom.
No response.
I approached the table where everyone was gathered and tried to catch up. All the women had multiple stripes of color lined up on the side of their hands. No one noticed me so I quickly adopted a new strategy. I could blend into the background long enough to quietly slip out.
“Erin!” the hostess appeared at my side again, showing off her color wheel.
I smiled and then stopped because I didn’t want to make my way through the lip and teeth sticking sideshow again. And my plan was foiled, the hostess’ presence drew The Consultant’s attention, and she screeched at my naked hand.
“You know what would look amazing on you,” she angled herself between me and the distance I was keeping from the collection of tubes on the table, “FOXY GIRL!”
With that, she thrust a bright red tube at me, and I started to laugh, “Good one! Is this a hazing?” I felt confident absolutely nothing about my vibe gave off a red lip.
Not to be that easily dissuaded, she retorted quickly, “LipWow can make every woman feel foxy.”
And then, I did the most Erin thing I could do, offer a thought that, given the crowd, belonged in my head. “It seems weird that they would choose the word girl, right?”
Silence.
Silence noted but not absorbed as I chose the exact wrong path again, “I always think it is funny when products for women are labeled ‘girl’.” The silence stole the rest of my words. Everyone around me was frozen and confused. I swore I heard eerie music but in hindsight I am guessing the alarm bells were really ringing.
Someone on the other side of the table, who I noticed AFTER my comment was sporting Foxy Girl launched into an explanation about a local cheer squad, who were gifted Foxy Girl for their state performance and “it absolutely radiated on stage.”
I didn’t know how to respond as this seemed to illustrate my point.
The Consultant thrust four very bright tubes at me. I examined the group: I don’t wear red, even if it looks incredible on a cheer squad, I was not sure what the purple color would translate to on my face, and the last two were just lighter shades of the first. I shoved in towards the table to find something I could put on my hand and reminded myself to blend and leave.
6:26 PM
“Who here has LipWowed before?”
I was too desperate to find a normal color and surprised that the product so quickly turned to a verb, that I didn’t notice that I was the only one without my hand up.
“Oh, a newbie!” The Consultant lightly touched my shoulder, “I need to explain the process to you.”
I looked at her quizzically, we met a few minutes ago, but it was like I was brand new. I coughed, “Process? It is lipstick, right?”
Audible gasp.
Then laughter.
The pregnant woman who lapped me on the driveway added, “You brought a plant, didn’t you? She’s here to drive up sales!”
Everyone else responded with nods and more canned laughter.
I shook my head, but The Consultant jumped in, “Haha, no, the product sells itself!” She directed her attention to me, and I thought I saw a glimmer of disgust that anyone would think I was the plant. She recovered in time to hit all her script notes, “We just so rarely have someone new to the product. Anyway, this is not lipstick. This is a lip revolution. This is a process that will make your lips smooth and full. Your color will stay on ALL DAY. Nothing takes this color off. Look at my lips, I applied that at eight o’clock this morning!”
The color was flawless other than the gobs of gloss.
“Huh,” I responded, thinking how alarming it would be for my family to see my lips always painted. I knew now there was no quick escape because I failed the very first step, blend. I set about finding the blandest color possible.
“I’ll just try this one,” I offered.
Pity smile placed, the consultant went on to explain that I was going to pick four colors. She ticked off words quickly, but I heard “be creative” and “might look great on you.”
I help up the bland tube again as an answer.
“Four colors!” she chirped back, “then you are going to take the wand and wipe it in the same motion. Always forward, NEVER back. One swipe, let it dry ten seconds, second swipe, let it dry ten seconds, third swipe, let it dry ten seconds.”
“I’m sorry?”
My question was swallowed by more instructions “Now, if it was on our lips, we would finish with a glossy layer, although we do have a matte sealer if that is the look you want.”
“I have to apply this four times?”
“Yes, and always in the same motion.”
“I cannot put this on in my car on the way somewhere, then?” my attention drifted to my tinted Burt’s Bees tinted lip balm, and how easy the little stick was to apply.
“NO!” The Consultant adamantly shook her head, “No! This needs to be part of your regular beauty routine in the morning. On average, this takes around ten minutes to apply, if you are using a brighter color, allot at least fifteen minutes. That includes curing and drying time.”
“I rarely spend that much time on my hair!” I laughed conspiratorially and looked for a partner in crime. The silence alerted me once again to my unfamiliar surroundings. The Consultant’s face looked slightly horrified.
I cleared my throat while I absentmindedly smoothed the side of my hair, “I guess I’ll try these four, and I grabbed the tubes closest to the edge of the table and moved to the side and out of the vision of The Consultant.
6:43 PM
Four stripes dried into slightly less wet, very sticky patches on my hands, as I stood towards the back of the line. I was still unsure why we formed a line. At this point, I followed anyone that moved to avoid The Consultant and “More colors!”
I tuned in to hear The Consultant explain that we needed to pick one color from our hand to try on our lips. She would place some of that color from the tester in a little ring with a shallow bowl on it that we would wear on our finger. Then, we were to proceed to the bathroom and use a Q-Tip to apply the color. When we applied all three layers, we would come back, and she would give us another ring of gloss or matte sealer to complete the look.
There was a light stripe on my hand with a hint of color. It almost blended in, and I decided that it was my best bet. I turned my attention to the front of the line where someone was hemming and hawing over her color choice. There were at least ten stripes on her hand.
“Well, I already have Plum Passion, and Pink Champagne. So, I really was thinking about Foxy Girl!”
“You should!”
“OMG, you would look AMAZING in Foxy Girl,” someone else added.
“You will love it; I pull it out for every date night with my husband! Haha!” This last comment came from the lady directly in front of me. I was very late for the Foxy Girl train.
The pregnant woman got in line behind me, and I heard her talking to herself while she weighed out the options. I pivoted slowly and smiled.
“You are not from around here, are you?” she asked.
“No,” I was taken back and flashed to a middle school lunchroom for a second. “That obvious, huh?” I tried to laugh.
“Yes.”
6:51 PM
Eager to get my ring of goop and get this process over with, I was pleased to finally be one step away from the front of the line.
The Consultant asked me, “Have you applied anything to your lips today?”
“Like this stuff, no.”
“No, I mean anything, ChapStick, Vaseline, lipstick, lip gloss…”
“Burt’s Bees ChapStick, Mango!” The last part came out high, and I told myself to bring it down a notch. This was weird, but I didn’t need to rise to the occasion.
“You need to go wash your lips.”
“Excuse me?”
“I need you to take this cotton ball, put the soap I put in the bathroom on it, and wash your lips.”
“Because of chapstick?”
“ChapStick will RUIN your lips. Once you switch to LipWow, you won’t need it. This is a comprehensive product to fill all your lip needs.”
I took my cotton ball to the bathroom and tried to pretend I understood my lip needs.
6:54 PM
“Okay, there is your ring of color. Now, remember, ALWAYS the same motion when applying. Corner to corner and corner to corner. DO NOT swipe backwards on your lip.”
I headed to the bathroom for the third time. Once there, I applied the first layer of color, corner to corner, on each lip as instructed. I felt a slight tingle. I waited for the allotted time and then started on the second layer. I got to the second corner before I realized my lips felt like they were on fire.
“Ow, this burns!” I said under my breath, but loud enough that the lady in the mirror to the side of me turned.
“It took almost a month for the burning to stop for me.”
“What?!? Continuously? Or just when I apply the product?”
“Just when you apply. I used chapstick before too, and my lips were so unhealthy. This works to shed all the dead cells and rejuvenate for fresh lips.”
I think you might be the plant, I thought to myself and nodded. I had no intention of finishing the third layer, but The Consultant appeared.
“How are we doing ladies?”
“Great!” chirped The Plant.
“To be honest, mine burns… a lot.”
She nodded knowingly, “Happens to everyone who uses Burt’s Bees. Essentially, this is color suspended in alcohol, so the drying process happens when the alcohol evaporates, leaving the color pigment.”
I pulled my lips together and in, to keep all my thoughts of jumping out of my mouth to the floor. Alcohol? What does that have to do with Burt’ Bees? Then it hit me, the burning stops from your lips getting used to it, not healthy. The pigment in the product must be so severe that they suspend it in alcohol to achieve the result. Why didn’t I do any research before I came?
“Apply your third layer and come and get your gloss ring!” She added in a sing-song voice as she worked the crowd.
When I tried to unstick my lips from holding them together to apply the third layer, I realized they were stuck. I pulled my lips back and forth to try to open them, and three tries later, they popped open with a little vacuum noise.
I rejoined the party, careful to hold my lips apart. I avoided the window and any other reflective surface. Compliments about colors flowed, and I stood awkwardly to the side, lips apart, horrified, tired, and ready to leave.
“So, just for our knowledge, how many calories are in LipWow?” A woman wearing tight skinny jeans, a sequin black tank top, and sporting Foxy Girl giggled after she offered the question.
The Consultant responded, “I get that question a lot! Luckily for us, beauty doesn’t have to come at a price! There are no calories in this stuff!” She beamed at the group.
My head snapped back, and I opened my mouth to explain that time was a price, and how would it have calories unless it was actively ingested? I managed to let a long, exasperated breath be my only protest. I headed to the food table in the kitchen. Lips still apart.
7:08 PM
The gloss ring was in my way, but we had to keep that to keep glossing as our lips dried out—a side effect of the alcohol I assumed.
I looked at the selections and realized I wanted something to drown the weird metallic taste coming from my lips. There were two ladies at the end of the kitchen island, and I could see some assortment of cans in front of them. I approached and tried to smile while I kept my lips apart.
“Hi.”
I reached towards the cans and belatedly realized they were not soda, but some sort of skinny tall beverage. The label looked homemade. I wondered more to myself, “What is this?”
“A new wine spritzer.” The tone told me this was another item I would know if I was from the area.
I scanned for glasses or anything else. Not a thing.
I took a deep breath. I did not want to dig through the cupboards for a glass, so I took the can closest to me and turned, smacking directly into The Consultant.
“Keep glossing!” She had her fingers up in the air sweepingly.
I tried to inch away without her noticing and cracked the top of the wine spritzer. I took a long drink before I remembered the drink and realized the color was a deep maroon.
Shit. The liquid threatened to slosh out of my mouth, but I could not swallow it. It was fizzing like pop rocks candy, but the flavor sent me back to church communion wine. I looked for a place to spit it out as the kitchen started to fill with more guests. The sink was blocked, the trash can was hidden, and I knew I wouldn’t make it to the bathroom without dribbling on the pristine carpet.
I scanned the table for napkins and didn’t see any. At the emergency level, I grabbed a strange-looking cracker directly in front of me and shoved it in two to absorb whatever was in that can.
The crackers were a strong herb flavor, unrecognizable, and far worse than the wine. Unfortunately, I have a very easy gag reflex, and between the LipWow product, the wine spritzer in a can, and the vile cracker, it kicked in. I tried to hide the gagging noises, and I willed myself to stop purely from the shame of throwing up in front of these women. I turned my body and swallowed hard. When I could face the group again, only two women seemed to notice, and to my surprise, they smiled.
“Good,” I held up my can, smiled, and swallowed the gag.
7:21 PM
“Let’s all go back to the living room!” The Consultant added. I silently thanked her for the distraction and figured this was the purchase push, which meant the end was near, and I could easily slip out.
I stood at the back. One of the women who kindly introduced me to wine spritzers strode up next to me with a different friend. “Today has been insane. I was in Costco TWICE. I went in the morning and had an entirely different list by the afternoon. A local Costco would be a dream come true. It would save me so much time! Anyway, sorry, I missed the Workout this afternoon.”
She turned to me, “Do you do The Workout?”
“No,” I responded, scanning my memory for cult names because it sounded familiar.
Her friend offered, “She is not from around here.”
7:23 PM
“So, ladies, we will move on to the next product! What is the longest part of your make-up routine?” The Consultant expectantly looked around like an over-eager schoolteacher.
“My lips now,” I laughed. No one else laughed.
“The eye makeup, right?” she spoke louder, which I am sure had nothing to do with my comment. We are going to move into our eyeshadow product! And the great part is, if you know how to apply LipWow, you know how to apply the eyeshadow. Different product, same application!”
I watched in horror as her hands clapped and her face widened in an expectant smile.
Nope, I thought to myself. I could feel panic rising. I need to get out of here. I cannot handle that burning sensation in my eyes or homemade wine, crackers, workouts, or foxes.
My body responded quickly to my fight-or-flight feeling and moved forward abruptly. My brain did not catch up. I said nothing while I stood in the middle of the room by myself.
“You have to leave, Erin?” the hostess looked disappointed. I turned my head towards The Consultant; she looked relieved.
“Yes, yes I do, I think.” I nailed it, am I right?
Someone else said, “I am going to need to get an extra work-out in for all that delicious food over there, and this wine!” She gestured to her spritzer.
I evaluated her as I stood there thinking, SECOND workout. I didn’t even consider a first workout.
“Well,” The Consultant interjected, “Let’s get your starter kit and colors.”
Fine, yes, charge my card and let me be free.
7:34 PM
I clutched my tiny bag and climbed into my car. I tried not to swear as I thought about the eighty dollars, I wasted on something I could never conceivably use. So much good cracker and wine money drying on my burning lips I imagined sneaking back in to get my bottle of wine and shifted to drive. I rolled the window down to get some air, and the fall leaf garland drew my attention again. The decision was easy this time: creepy.
8:22 PM
“Wow! Look at those lips!” Mike caught me in the kitchen.
“So much for assuming I picked a subtle color.”
“It is so…wet?”
“I think the word you are looking for is glossy. And yes, yes, they are. Because the minute the gloss wears off, my lips are so sticky, I cannot stand the feeling. It is making my stomach turn.”
“What is on your hand? What was this party?”
I looked down at the stripes of color. My shoulders deflated. “I can’t get it off.”
“Just wipe it off?” Mike looked puzzled.
I held up my tiny, blue chiffon bag of four tubes, “This stuff does NOT come off.”
“What is that? Let me see that bag,” Mike grabbed the royal blue package, “Is it just me, or does this look like a party favor at a twelve-year-old girl’s birthday party?”
“Yep.”
“The profits are not making it to the labels.”
“Typical pyramid scheme – money stays at the top.”
“Is it possible for you to stop smacking your lips?”
“Absolutely not.”
9:35 PM
“The color is hanging in there.” Mike pointed to my lips while pulling back the comforter on our bed.
“Hilarious. My hand hurts from scrubbing. I can’t believe I had to use a nail polish remover on my hand. I can’t put that on my lips.”
“I am sure it will wear off by morning.”
“I hope so. It feels very flaky and sticky at the same time.”
“I hate to tell you it LOOKS sticky and flaky.”
9:55 PM
I tossed and turned while my stomach tossed and turned in the opposite direction. I had one drink of that wine and one cracker. That could be causing this much ruckus.
I turned again and felt my lip. I pulled back a slightly sticky finger. My stomach responded, and the realization of what was in my stomach sent me to the bathroom.
10:17 PM
I rested my forward on the cool floor. Shaken and clammy after throwing up, it was my new home.
“Are you okay?” Mike called from our bedroom through the bathroom door.
I managed to moan.
“I guess we know why they told you it’s calorie-free.”
11:22 PM
Confident I was done in the bathroom; I rose to catch myself in the mirror. To my horror, the mauve color was still the most prominent feature.
5:55 AM
I silenced my phone alarm and stood up as coconut flakes fell onto my pillow. At the same time my brain woke up, I reached out to touch one.
I rushed into the bathroom to discover flecks of skin in my hair and stuck to the side of my face. While I wiped off the flakes and examined my lips, I realized that the tint of color was easily visible underneath the cracks. The Consultant, The Product, The Wine, and The Workout flooded my thoughts while I recited The Vow: no more in-home parties.
Erin Johnston is the co-creator and editor of Midwest Weird. And with Heath Smith and Amy Lee Lillard, she hosts the 80s and 90s pop culture podcast Fuzzy Memories.
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